


In Which There Is, In Fact, A Farmhouse

by mangneov



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 12 a.m. Banter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Fix-It, For a lot of movies, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Plot too though, Scott is absolutely smitten quick, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangneov/pseuds/mangneov
Summary: It's on the Raft when Scott learns that he and Clint have something in common. Clint, as it turns out, is just as guilty of being an absent superhero father as Scott is, and they both desperately want to fix that. It creates a brief but much needed form of solace for them both. When Scott returns to the states under house arrest, he never really expects to see Clint again.Then the world starts to fall apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings.

The Raft is a really dispiriting place. It gets to the point where Scott, who considers himself to be a generally positive and upbeat guy (considering his circumstances), finds himself staring at a blank wall out of misery for what feels like hours. He honestly can't remember prison feeling so harrowing.

They don't treat him like shit, at least not as much as they could. There's three meals a day varying for square to not, he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to chore-wise, shower times and hygienic rituals are separate for each prisoner, and one of the guards let him borrow a book she had been reading one time. They're even allowed to talk amongst themselves during certain periods of time until the man upstairs gets tired of their yapping and shuts off communications.

Unfortunately, talking to the others is like talking to wooden planks with their respective recognizable faces painted on.

Ms. Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch as he's been told, is locked off in some room in solitary confinement. Scott is a little horrified to hear this, but there's also a guilty, giddy relief. As much as he's on Team Cap, he'll admit that the news reports on Sokovia definitely made him reconsider his commitment. He hates to see a child in such a state, but regretfully can't help but also fear her.

Sam Wilson is also completely out of the question for niceties. He's either dead silent and pacing, or up late at night cursing Tony Stark's name, or quietly beating himself down for how much he regrets and regrets and regrets and how he couldn't go faster and faster and faster. Scott hasn't tried more than twice to speak to him, with failed results. It seems that he's the living reminder of their little fight awhile back that just adds fuel to the fire that is Sam's slowly worsening mood.

And so that leaves Clint Barton. Scott remembers a few years back, when he'd still had a whole family, a night when he and Cassie had sat in front of the TV and watched a short documentary style video on the Avengers. He'd gushed over Captain America (much to his daughter's easily amused toddler nature) and listened to Cassie's incoherent babble about her favorites, of which he wasn't entirely sure. And at the time it seemed that Clint knew about the whole thing with him being useless compared to his coworkers, because he fully embraced it when his turn came around. Scott, who previously himself agreed with that sentiment, found himself instead a little more endeared after that.

It was that story that found him his first talking buddy on the Raft.

"She counted, actually. Fourteen seems like barely anything."

"There's not fourteen. It just looks like it. There's more on the side and back, side pockets and whatever."

"So what do you actually have? Like, seventeen? You're terrifying."

Clint chuckles at that. It's very light, and Scott doesn't expect anything different, so he grins back. He grins, even if they can't see each other.

"I have enough, alright. The trick is I don't miss," Clint finally says.

"Fun superpower. How'd the registration go?" Scott bounces back.

He's not snarky guy, but he also feels the need to be jokey to reset to a familiar lighthearted mood. It feels really nice to go back to a norm. And he thinks Clint agrees, which means that half the prison is in good spirits again. It's progress.

"Eh, I have a select couple of words. Could tell you everyone was shocked, though, even my own kids. They have no faith in me; it breaks their old man's heart."

Scott pauses, surprised, and he thinks he hears a quiet intake of breath from Clint. The pacing from Sam's cell stops, and it's then when he remembers it's not just them.

"Kids?" Sam calls out, to no response. "Barton, you have kids?"

Scott immediately tries to backtrack.

"We-I didn't know you had kids! I mean, obviously you wouldn't talk about, but I still didn't..." He trails off when Clint starts talking over him in as long string of 'hey's.

"Look, Scott. It's not exactly a thing I'm super open with." He pauses. "Hell, took me a long time before I even told the other Avengers. I had this whole thing set up to keep it private, and I wanted it to stay that way. I'd still like it to stay that way. You were bound to find out at some point, I guess, what with joining and shit." Scott assumes Sam Wilson is included in this 'you'. "So keep it on the lowdown for me, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course! I won't tell anyone, I really can't tell anyone," Scott says. "I have a daughter myself, actually, so I understand. You already knew that though. We were just talking about it."

To stop himself from smacking his head against the wall, Scott squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his teeth and waits for the floor to open up.

Clint doesn't say anything, sort of kinda tries to laugh but it sounds pitying. Wilson sighs discreetly.

There isn't much talking for the rest of the day. Scott blames himself entirely.

 

:::

 

Eventually, it comes down to house arrest. If they'd waited a day longer, it would've been break out by Captain America. As much as the thought causes Scott to swoon, it's blocked out by the pure, unfiltered eagerness he's feeling to get back to Cassie. Apparently it won't be for awhile, since he's a public menace or whatever and there's paper work to figure out, but he's still damn excited. Clint is too.

Surprisingly, they had ended up talking more about his family. Under the approval of Ross under the approval of Fury, Clint was allowed to disclose information about his family (Scott thinks the amount of go-aheads that had to go through is kind of bullshit). He's got two kids, Lila and Cooper. They live in a farmhouse, much to Scott's delight, under the care of rotating guardians that range from relatives to friends to Fury's selections. He had a wife too. Clint wasn't particularly keen on sharing the details of what happened to her, but it seems like she wasn't the only one he had. Scott doesn't press. Clint seems like he regrets being an absent father in the past already, and feels guilty that retirement was supposed to work and didn't. He'd told Scott that he wished everyday on that damn boat that he hadn't followed Cap to Germany.

It's after this conversation that Scott begins questioning his loyalties again. He and Clint are transported off a few days after it. He thinks hard the entire way over the ocean. Clint had said he looked stupid when he was trying to focus, and Scott had smacked him the arm. Then they'd both gotten an earful for that and had fallen silent.

The information about Steve Roger's supposed rescue mission reaches them in New York when they're parting ways.

Scott hears his own name mentioned on the television screen mounted in the airport lobby (Stark, finally scooped up from Siberia frozen, half dead, and freshly energized with vengeance had refused to let them land at the Compound. Scott momentarily forgets why he's supposed to hate the man) and glances up. Clint's got his hearing aids turned off at the moment and doesn't notice so Scott jabs him hard in the side. The guy watching them narrows his eyes. Scott ignores it.

"Hey, Clint, turn your thingies back on and look."

He does so, and then they both turn to the television screen.

"-more details about his arrest are still pending. From back at the Raft, we bring you shocking news. A break in occurred at the prison earlier this morning. Audio and video footage were unavailable at the time, but it's suspected that Steve Rogers, alias Captain America of the ex-avengers was behind it. Two others in confinement, Sam Wilson, alias Falcon and Wanda Maximoff were supposedly taken off the Raft by Rogers. It's unknown where the group is now, but reports of a quartet matching two of their descriptions were spotted in Northern Vietnam."

"Shit," Clint breathes out next to him.

"Yeah. You think it was him?" Scott asks.

Clint nods and stares back down at his duffle bag. "Not doubt about it."

"You think he took them all the way to Vietnam?"

Clint looks up at him, his eyes flick at their guard, and then back.

"I wouldn't put it past him," he says aloud. His eyes, however, are telling Scott that he's lying. Scott wonders briefly if he means farmhouses. But then he remembers the conversation, and he knows better. So he just nods back, and throws his backpack over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure they'll get him again soon." Would a wink be too subtle? He doesn't do anything, but Clint smirks.

They head down to the baggage claim. Neither of them have anything to pick up; they had to carry everything with them on the jet. Their escorts are waiting for them there. Scott casts glances over at Clint during the whole walk. He wonders what he's thinking about, Cap or his kids. His own mind is still stuck on Cassie, and not being one known for discretion, he bounces on his heel with every step.

When they reach the claim, he starts to wonder if Clint is thinking about how he'll scoop up his kids and tell them over and over again how much he missed them the second he steps into the doorframe. He wonders if he'll walk around the house with them, and they'll show him the pictures they drew and the shows they watched while he was gone. He wonders if maybe he'll nod and laugh, but it'll be guilty and strained. And he wonders if nothing will happen at all, and Clint will spend the night quietly leaning on the kitchen entrance, thinking how he couldn't be there for the children who have locked their doors and shut their father out.

And there he goes, internally projecting again.

"Hey," he says suddenly.

Clint looks away from the bag roundabout, and casts half a glance over at Scott. They're still waiting, sat in a corner, and occasionally get looks or frowns or very fearful eyes thrown their way. Scott might've imagined one smile on the face of a young girl, to stop the hurt.

"Hey yourself."

"Look, I just, I wanted to say some things to you before we parted ways," Scott starts. Clint nods, but keeps his posture. "So I'm going back to an apartment, right? And I'm living all by myself. And I hate living by myself. All my life I've had people, but most importantly I had my daughter." Clint shifts a bit at that, and Scott pauses involuntarily for the briefest second. "I just-I really miss her. I hardly saw her even before all of this. It really sucked! But in some ways, it made me appreciate her more. Ever time I got to see Cassie, it was a really good day. She would light up like a damn Christmas tree, and I'm not saying she's does favorites, but."

Clint smiles at that. Without meaning to, Scott beams back.

"When I told her about the whole superhero gig, she just loved that even more. She told me I was her favorite superhero. Can you believe that? Not any of the big greats, not Cap or Stark or anyone else, me. Her dumb old dad who landed himself in prison and couldn't even pay child support. And I thought to myself, 'I can't let someone like that be my daughter's favorite superhero'. And so I stopped doing all that bad stuff, and it was better."

And he stops, and passes on a sad look, and he likes to think that Clint understands.

"When I see her again, I have no idea what she's gonna think of me, Clint. I almost don't want her to like me anymore, because what kind of role model is that for a kid? I tried so hard to fix everything, and then I went and screwed up again. But I really, really, really want to see her. And I'm going to try so, so hard this time. I've had three chances at being a good dad, Clint. And I've screwed up two times already, which is two times too many. And I can't do it a third time, because then I've really failed her. And I just can't do that."

Scott finishes, and seeing Clint's expression, tries a little half smile to lighten the mood. But Clint continues to just stare at him in shock, and his eyes look like they're saying a million different things at once. And Scott wants to respond to him and tell him he shouldn't be sorry and that he knows how bad it is and that he'll be okay. But he can't, and it's quiet and cold in their little corner.

"Time to go."

Scott is shaken by a voice, and turns around. His escort stands there, holding his forgotten backpack, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Scott turns back, and Clint is still staring at him. He looks so lost and Scott almost tells him everything, about being alright and getting better and to just tell his kids he loves them.

"Good luck," he says instead, as he's taken away. He silently hopes that it communicates everything, but intends to never think about it again.

 

* * *

 

He sees Cassie three months later. She bursts through the front door, screaming wildly about how much she misses him, and Scott doesn't even care about being presentable in front of Maggie and the government guy when she practically throws herself at him.

Cassie goes on immediately about what she saw in the news and asks Scott if he really met Captain America, and if he really fought Iron Man, and if the boat was fun. Scott answers her questions just as excitedly as she asks them (minus the latter). She runs excitedly around the new apartment and says how happy she is to stay there, and looks at his ankle bracelet until deciding she could get it off herself if he wanted, and then peppers him with more questions before they make her sit down because she's buzzing so much.

It's later, when she, him, and her mother are eating a shoddily prepared dinner that Maggie shoots him a look across the table. He hasn't seen one like it in awhile, because he had been getting better, but as soon as he sees it the cold pit in his stomach blossoms again. He knows they'll talk about things later.

He knows Maggie is tired with it all, with him trying and failing again and again.

He thinks about how she had forgiven him once, when he had really started to improve. She had told them his daughter was just a child after all, an impressionable child, and that she loved her dad so much. If he wanted that admiration to be earned, she'd continued, he'd have to fix himself.

Then Cassie pokes him with her fork, interrupting his thoughts, and asks him how many arrows Hawkeye had. Scott can barely answer around the lump in his throat.

  
:::

 

Scott watches as Hope cries openly into her father's shoulder. It's almost surreal. He's never seen her so broken and vulnerable before, and that's how he figures out what happened. His chest tightens at the thought.

Two people, each put in horrible situations from which they had little hope of escape, have died recently.

Scott doesn't know who the girl called Ghost was, despite what he was told. But she was just a child, and he thinks about his daughter, about Wanda on the Raft, about Clint's two faceless kids, and everything seems so wrong in the world. He wishes, stupidly, in that moment that he could stop the world from fighting for every one of them in the world. It's so ridiculous, but a child is dead and Scott's crying so every thought is irrational.

He didn't know Hope's mother, either, but he remembers seeing Hope yell out loud and rush over to her like Cassie had to him, so he understands. It had been strange, though. She looked thirty years or so younger than her husband, and claimed that she had only been gone for a day. So Hank had rushed off to his computers and brought back a report on a theory of his, wherein the Quantum Realm had a different time than them.

But then things had gotten ugly. A failed attempt on Ghost's part to take the energy of Hope's mother. It wouldn't have worked and they couldn't tell her, but Janet still had fallen silent as the young girl placed two hands at her temple. Scott was bleeding from the mouth and too hurt to move, but he had seen her eyes strain and tears form before they'd fallen shut.

The Quantum Realm had truly broken her.

Ghost had screamed then. Screamed because her body had started to horribly mangle and fall apart. Her form flit brokenly over the unconscious woman's body, and she screamed and screamed that she didn't want to die. Over and over. Scott had tried to drag himself over to her, because maybe he could talk to her, but then pain shot from his spine to his ribs and he was forced back down.

His eyes had been fixed to the floor, wide in horror, as he'd listened helplessly to the girl's wailing and sobbing grow more distorted, until a unbelievably pained shriek ripped through the room and everything went dead silent.

He's stopped thinking about the aftermath. Whatever happened, it seemed that the time Janet spent in Metro General hadn't done anything.

"Hey, guys. You doing okay?"

Scott wipes his face quickly and walks over to where Hope and Hank are standing at the edge of the roof. Today was supposed to be a testing day, as scheduled awhile ago, but none of them seem ready for quantum adventures at the moment.

Hope lets out a shaky breath.

"Alright, Scott. We're doing alright." She keeps her back to him. Hank doesn't say anything.

Scott sighs. He's got the lab in the back of the van all rigged up, so maybe later he'll just turn that off and go home. For now though, he can see how badly they're hurting.

He places what he hopes is a comforting hand on Hope's shoulder. They haven't been close like this since before Germany. It had all just kinda stopped even before then.

Hope lets out another sob, but leans into his touch. They stay like that for awhile. Scott's mind drifts back to his daughter again. It feels selfish, but he wants to be able to empathize and console them both in some way. Still, he finds himself unable to say anything. What a saint he is. Scott sniffles and the crying picks up again.

Hope gets quieter until the three of them just have silent tears rolling down their faces. Scott's staring blankly down at the street below them, guilt eating away at him (it's a feeling he's grown very accustomed to) when suddenly he can hear faint screaming. Briefly, he assumes it's his mind going back to traumatic memories, but then he hears Hank go "what the hell?" under his breath and looks closer.

He sees a man walking by the road suddenly stop, and gasp in fear as his body slowly starts to fade into dust from his toe to his head. Scott eyes freeze open and he's unable to tear them away from the little bits that were once a human person.

"Dad? Dad what's going on, what-"

Scott turns around just in time to catch Hope's barely muffled scream as she watches Hank slowly fall apart as the man did. His hands are shaking as he goes, and he stares at her in terrified shock.

"Scott," Hope calls to him, her voice tight as a bowstring. She's crying again, hard, and Scott thinks he is too. "What's happening, Scott?"

"I-," Scott responds shakily. "I don't know. We should-"

And then suddenly Hope starts whispering frantic 'no's. Scott looks down to see her leg has started breaking up. He rushes over to her, grabs her around the shoulders. She holds back just as hard.

"It'll be okay, Hope, just hold on and we'll get help I promise," he whispers shakily, on the verge of hysteria.

"Scott..." Hope says quietly back, and then Scott feels a press of hot tears to his neck before suddenly, he's holding no one at all.

He stares wide mouthed and wide eyed, breath shivering as tears fall down his chin. There's a cold fear coiled around his stomach and chest as waits for it to happen to him. He doesn't want to die, and his brain provides images of Ghost screaming it on the floor.

Ghost. The girl. Cassie.

Not caring about his own well being anymore, Scott sets his face with determination. He throws a disc at the van and runs over to grab it. Carefully he closes the back doors, and takes a long, uneven breath. He's gotta remember her address, and he goes over the ones he knows in his mind as he starts sprinting. He leaps off the roof and grabs onto a neighboring fire escape, then tosses the van back down to return it to its normal size. Then he crawls in, and guns it.

The city is an absolute ruin. Multiple cars look like they've been subject to a crash and lay broken and on fire by the road. He sees people running around and screaming, or standing still, frozen by shock. His tears threaten to start up again, and he can barely focused on the ruined and clogged road.

He's not sure how he ends up making it.

He fumbles with the seatbelt for a good ten seconds, his hands shaking with such intense force he can feel it in his biceps. He finally tears it off and jumps out of the driver's seat without bothering to close the door. He runs up the stairs of the porch, and starts banging on it insistently.

"Cassie? Cassie! Maggie? Is Cassie in there? Cassie! Someone open the door, please-" he nearly falls through and smacks his ex-wife when she opens the door.

"Scott?"

Her voice is trembling and she looks shocked to see him. For once, though, it doesn't seem like unwanted attention.

"Maggie, where's Cassie? Is she okay?" he asks, unable to keep the hoarseness from his voice.

Maggie's face falls then, and all of sudden she starts crying. She practically throws herself at Scott's chest, even though he's fully suited up, and squeezes him deathly tight.

She cries hard, like Hope had when her mother passed and Ghost had when she realized she was dying. They just stand there on the porch, Maggie sobbing and digging her nails into his back while Scott finds himself frozen.

He stares past her head, his hands hanging in the air, and feels his blood run cold. Something lodged in his throat threatens to choke him out if he doesn't let it escape, but he can't say anything or do anything. He feels paralyzed, and it's at this moment when he realizes it's all his fault. Maybe, he thinks, if he had just tried a little harder, his world wouldn't be crumbling apart.

Maggie wails into his shoulder. Scott weeps.

 

* * *

 

Scott stands at the entrance to the compound. The sun started setting awhile ago, the sky now a dark painting of purples and oranges. Maggie's leaning on his arm. They've both stopped crying, but Scott's done so much of it lately that he thinks his eyes are going to fall out of his head. They hurt. Everything hurts.

"Anyone home?" he calls out. There's a security camera above them, small but noticeable, and Scott wonders briefly if it's Stark tech. God, what happened to him? "It's me, Scott Lang. Ant-Man?" He points vaguely at his outfit, but wishes he had changed before they arrived "I was the guy that got really big in Germany."

The words taste bitter in his mouth.

They wait for a few moments, and Scott considers giving up all hope, but then he hears a click and the gates slide open. He pats Maggie on the back and leads her through.

They reach the entrance after a silent walk. Scott has time to think during it, and he wonders if the Avengers had any involvement with the day's happenings. He wonders if they had finally failed, and couldn't stop what they sent out to. But can he really blame them? He remembers the airport. They're all far from perfect people.

They reach the entrance of the compound when Scott realizes he's never actually been here before. It's big and expertly designed, but he gets the impression it's hardly ever full of people.

There's two silhouettes at the door, unrecognizable in the dark. He shifts Maggie so she's holding his hand instead of him supporting her, and raises his other in a sad wave.

"Thanks. I wasn't sure who to come to, so I hope I'm not intruding."

There's a sigh, and one of them shakes their head.

"You're fine, Scott. If anything we're pretty happy you came to us first." It's instantly obvious that it's the voice of Steve Rogers. Scott stutters in his steps, but Maggie continues to pull him along.

"Thank you so much for letting us in. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure you do," she says quietly. Rogers nods at her, and offers the door. She's sniffling as he guides her through with a hand on her back. The other person gestures for him to follow. Scott realizes with a start that it's James Rhodes, and his heart hammers in his chest when he hears the electronic whir.

Rhodes must've noticed his hesitance because he says, "Don't worry about it. Now's not the time."

Scott shakily nods his understanding and follows him inside.

Rogers guides them to a room that looks like it was meant for conferences. There's a huge table, and sat around it are a couple of recognizable faces. There's also a raccoon crouched in a chair with its hands over its head, but Scott doesn't bother asking. He sees Black Widow (he's blanking on her real name) sat in front of a screen, her thumb in her teeth as she watches worriedly. A missing persons list, Scott notices, and suddenly he has to sit down.

"You holding up alright?" Rogers asks him, or maybe just the table as a whole. Nobody says anything, so Scott confirms that he's not alone in his guilt. He does another once over of the room and gives names to two others: Dr. Bruce Banner sitting at the corner with a sweater pulled tightly around his person, and the one and only Thor, who looks less than mighty as he's hunched next to Banner, glaring at the ground.

Far from perfect people, indeed. Far from all the people he was hoping to see, too.

"Hey, um..." He trails off when a bunch of eyes focus on him. "Look, you don't have to answer, but I have a question."

Rhodes waves for him to go on.

"Where's Stark? And Clint? Did they...you know."

Rogers sighs, and Rhodes closes his eyes, and everyone else just goes back to looking at the floor. Maggie looks at them all with the same curiosity he feels. There's quiet for awhile, and then Romanoff (that's what it was) hands him the screen. Tony Stark and Clint Barton's names are listed as missing, but because of unknown whereabouts.

"Last time we heard about Tony, he was with a wizard in Central Park," Rogers supplies, and that doesn't really help Scott figure anything out. "Clint, on the other hand, has cut off all communications with us. We would go check on him, but we've currently got our hands full with other things."

"I'm going to kill Thanos," Thor suddenly says from across the table, and the pure rage stored in that tiny sentence shocks Scott. Banner pats Thor comfortingly on the shoulder, and tells him to calm down.

"Wait- I'm confused. Who's Thanos?" Maggie pipes up.

"A big purple psychopath from space hellbent on using massacres to get what he wants. Dude got his hands on some powerful rocks and then half of the universe went out like a light," Rhodes tells her. His voice his dry, but Scott can see him shift from one shoulder to the other to keep his composure.

"So what do we do?" Scott asks. He voice holds so much childlike fear it worries even himself.

"Nothing right now," the raccoon answers, and Scott jumps about a foot in his chair and Maggie's mouth falls open. Everyone else ignores this. "We don't know where he is. I've tried to get word from up there," he points at the roof, Scott assumes he means past it, "but apparently we're not on talking terms. That, or my team is dead."

Everyone in this room is so nonchalant about everything that Scott wonders if he's going to become depressed just by sitting with them.

"Is there really nothing we can do? What about me?"

"Scott, we appreciate you coming here, but we've all hit a roadblock at the moment. The world is in chaos, and and we don't know where our greatest defender went. How can we even begin to do something?" Rogers challenges him.

Scott stares wide eyed at them all. They all turn away from him again. A heavy silence hangs over the room. Scott wonders how badly they've must've gotten beaten to look like this. It's obvious it wasn't over in a few seconds, and that they had fought to a long and sour end. He bitterly thinks they should've tried harder, but he wasn't there, so what does he know? It really could've been his fault.

"Miss? Could you come with me please? We need to over the details of your situation," Rogers says quietly to Maggie, breaking the silence. She nods, and gets up slowly. Scott doesn't say anything to her, even when she looks at him. They leave.

He stares at the screen for a good minute before he makes up his mind. He sets it down, and slides it back over to Romanoff.

"Where you going?" Raccoon asks. The remaining Avengers watch him in confusion, and Thor furrows his brow into a scowl. Scott pushes off from the table, and pulls his jacket on a little tighter.

"Out for some air," he only partly lies, and turns to go back out the way he came.

"By yourself?" Romanoff asks, and clutches the screen close. Her gaze flickers from it to him. An understanding passes between them. Scott sets his gaze hard and considers it, because he will need directions after all. He shakes his hands out.

"Wanna come with?"

"I would."

They both leave the room, and no one makes any objections.

 

:::

 

"Farmhouse," Scott breathes, and turns the ignition off. "He wasn't kidding." If the situation were less dire, he'd probably make a million jokes about, but for right now there's just a hint of a smile on his lips. Natasha is less enthused, and unbuckles.

They had driven basically all morning. Natasha (as he'd been told to call her) had quickly grabbed a duffle bag packed in a moment with an assortment of things arranging from chips to knives. For the first few hours, they'd let her phone play music through the car speaker until light chatter had started up. Scott thinks he had actually laughed at one point. But soon Thanos wormed his way back into the conversation, and by three in the morning Scott was caught up. Natasha said once they found Thanos, they would be able to use his Infinity Stones to bring everyone back.

Scott was feeling okay again.

The get out of the van, parked neatly in the dirt road, and make their way up the porch steps. It's maybe five in the morning, and Scott's missing the sun. He's also missing sleep, but that's less important. Natasha fishes into her pocket for a few seconds before procuring a key.

"Were you close?" he dares to ask.

"An aunt, a godmother, and a best friend," she answers, but brushes through the door before he can think about it. "Barton? You in here?"

Scott looks around the room while she goes to search upstairs. It's closer to what he imagined than he thought it would be. It's quaintly decorated, with an oaky interior and warm hued furniture. There's blankets and pillows strewn about the floor, a mess of lined paper and pencils, two baseball gloves tucked in an open cabinet, and various framed pictures on the walls. Scott sighs shakily, and the amount of domesticity the living room alone exudes makes his heart ache. He turns to one of the pictures and his breath catches.

Clint, with two children and a young woman, all of them caught laughing when the photo was taken. Clint's eyes are crinkled at the edges and the kids share such a similar expression that there's no way they're not his. The woman is laughing less fully than the others, but her eyes shine with a happiness stronger than they posses. Her stomach is round and swollen, the suggestion of a coming baby.

Scott almost stops breathing.

"Scott, he's not up here. We need to check the barn," Natasha calls to him from the stairwell. Scott tears his eyes away from the picture and follows her out the back door. He considers his questions before he asks it.

"Did you see his kids?" he ponders, because now it's all he can think about. The dirt path is loud under his feet. Natasha sighs.

"No, Scott. I looked in their rooms but they weren't there," Natasha responds, and it scratches against her throat. Scott closes his eyes for just a second, just to let it sink in, to remember what it was like when he heard about Cassie.

"You have one too?" Natasha asks, stopping him. He opens his eyes.

They stand quiet for a few moments, because Scott really has to think about what to say. Does he tell her that he did, and that she was the best part of his life? That he let her down over and over and she still loved him? That he of all people was her favorite superhero? That she's dead now, because of the Avengers?

"Yeah," he finally says. "I loved her a lot."

"So you understand what Clint might be like when we find him?"

He nods.

"I do. That's why I'm here."

Natasha smiles at him then. It takes Scott by surprise, but he returns it. They look back at the barn.

"So you're ready?" Natasha asks him. Her hands are in fists, and she shifts the duffle bag on her shoulder in anticipation.

"I think so," Scott answers.

He follows her down the path. The barn grows larger with each step, and it's crazy how intimidated by it he is. He watches in tense silence as Natasha stops in front of the thing, and raises a hand to the door.

Three knocks.

"Clint, are you in there?"

There's no response, so Natasha knocks again. This time, the door budges open. She looks over at Scott. Together, they push the door open. It's been blocked by paint cans and boxes, which isn't great problem solving, but someone tried their best.

Scott wipes his hands off on his jeans, and looks up.

There he is, perched under the rafters on a wooden beam. Clint's got a baseball bat in hand, but he doesn't look like he plans on using it. He barely even acknowledges their presence. It's hard to see, because the sun still isn't up yet. There's a flashlight on the ground, but that looks broken. Natasha takes one look at Clint, throws the bag down, and rushes over to the ladder to climb up to him. Scott stays put, unsure of where he should be.

They brought their own flashlight, he remembers, so he shuffles around in the duffle bag until he finds it.

Natasha notices, and waves at him.

"Come on up, Scott. I don't think he's gonna bite."

Scott watches for a reaction on Clint's face, they both do, but it's too dark for him to see. Judging by the way Natasha's shoulders slump from where she's standing in the hay loft, he can imagine he didn't miss anything.

He places the flashlight in his mouth and hauls his way up.

Straw and dirt sticks to his legs, so he's rubbing his calf with his toe when he hands the flashlight to Natasha. She thanks him, wipes it off on her jacket, and turns it on just below where Clint is.

He looks less than great. If Scott were to have guessed, he would think Clint's been sitting there for a week instead of a day. He's slouched in a position that cannot be healthy, and the angle of the flashlight makes the shadows under his eyes look more like they've sunken in. He's shivering, and who can blame him? He's in a dank, cold barn in a flannel shirt and is going through trauma that Scott can personally relate too. He thinks so, at least. Clint is alone and his fingers are battered, and his eyes are red in the way his own are.

"Oh, Clint. What happened to you?" Natasha whispers in a voice that is halfway between worried and chiding.

Clint, unsurprisingly, makes no move to respond.

"We're coming up there, okay? Stay put." Natasha looks over at Scott, signaling for him to go first. He walks over to the edge of the loft and attempts to pull himself up, but finds himself unable to get the boost he needs. Fantastic. Why's it now when he can't do something basic? Didn't he jump off a roof earlier?

Natasha walks over and pushes him up by the foot, but he's too embarrassed to thank her. The way she climbs up herself with extra finesse just makes him think she knew it would happen. He feels unexplainably flustered.

"How you holding up?" Natasha asks over his shoulder, once she's settled.

Clint still doesn't say anything, but he clears his throat and turns to face them. Scott, who's right next to him, almost falls off the damn beam when he sees how tired and angry Clint looks. He'd seen that same face in the rear view mirror earlier that morning.

"Hey," he offers dumbly.

"Hey yourself." It's drenched with bitterness Scott knows isn't for him but still feels in his chest.

He and Clint haven't spoken since the airport, but he had thought about him in passing once or twice. He wonders briefly if Clint even remembers all the long conversations they had on the Raft. He's surprised to find he cares.

"Have you eaten?" he tries instead. His plan is to talk like he's talking to himself, which may or may not make him seem stupid.

"No," Clint sighs, and Scott and Natasha share a look. "I was supposed to being eating lunch with my kids a few hours ago but then they just..." He stops, and taps the bat against his thigh.

"Clint, we need you back at the Compound-"

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Nat?" Clint cuts her off, harsh and sudden. Scott leans back a bit. The man next to him looks absolutely livid, an expression he never expected to see on Hawkeye of all people.

"Clint, you can't do this right now. If we go back to the Compound we can explain everything," Natasha tries again, with distinctly more authority.

" _You_ want me to go back? What about _me_? You think _I'm_ excited to go talk to your little band of rouges? News flash, Natasha. I'm not exactly over the moon with you guys right now," Clint spits back.

"You weren't the only affected by all of this, Barton. Everyone is suffering. And you can't just pin it on us, either. You weren't there."

Scott watches Clint's face darken, and he leans further away from the middle of the situation playing out in front of him.

"And why is that? Tell me, Nat. Why the fuck wasn't I there?" Clint growls.

"You came to Germany by your own free will." Natasha hisses. Her expression is slowly beginning to match Clint's. "No one forced you to go, you decided you were done with retirement and left your kids behind-"

" _My kids are fucking dead, Nat!_ " Clint yells, and his voice breaks on the last syllable.

Scott slips back in surprise, but Natasha grabs him by the arm before he can fall. Her eyes stay trained on Clint, though, and Scott finds himself hesitantly looking over as well. It's really saying something that he knows that face. It's the same look that Clint had given him at the baggage claim, but this time, judging by the lack of sleep and tears threatening to fall in his eyes, Scott can tell that he truly has been defeated.

Clint looks from Natasha to him. He's breathing way too heavily, and suddenly he grits his teeth and throws the bat at the left wall. Scott can't suppress his jump as it hits with an loud and echoing bang.

And then Clint dissolves into raggedy sobs.

"Scott, help him get down," Natasha directs quietly. Scott looks from her to him, dubious, but nods. He inches a bit closer.

"Hey, Clint, is it okay if I help you off?" he asks, keeping his voice low. He can feel Natasha's eyes burning into his skull.

Clint hazards a glance before he turns away again. His hands tighten, as if he's planning to yell again or say something snappy like an asshole, but then he just takes a shuddering breath. He doesn't respond, so Scott takes that as a yes. He slowly reaches a hand out to Clint's shoulder, and pulls him closer. Natasha nods, and scoots to the end of the beam. She hops down, though this time it's less controlled and elegant.

Scott follows suite. His hand slips down to Clint's wrist, not to pull him along, but to keep contact. He finds himself unconsciously making little shushing noises and saying 'it's going to be alright', like the time he'd taken Cassie to the playground and she'd first tried the monkey bars. He's thinking about kids again, and when he helps Clint off, he's sure to keep a strong grip.

The walk back to the van is meandering and tense, but Scott doesn't really mind. Clint stays pressed to his side. He's not used to it. But he can't bring himself to pull away. Natasha watches them from behind, but Scott can still sense the worry she's trying to hide.

The sun is beginning to peak out from the skyline when they pull off the dirt road. Natasha and Clint are in the back, his head on her shoulder. Scott looks at them in the mirror. He wonders but he doesn't ask, and turns the key into the port. Soon the farm house is far behind them. Clint's ankle bracelet has also been removed, they find out.

Scott keeps a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and glances back every five seconds.

"Eyes on the road," Clint mutters in his general direction after the seventh time.

"Sorry," Scott says without thinking, and swerves.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently I have more of this fic written, but it was becoming so big that I thought it'd be easier to read in three chapters instead of one huge chunk. Honestly, I was just planning to write a quick oneshot and then it jumped to over 11,000 words and other characters got off-screen storylines too.
> 
> You can tell that I have a habit of writing long and drawn out description scenes, especially when I'm super motivated, so I apologize for the lack of dialogue. This is the chapter that has the most energy put into it so far, though. While it includes a lot of world building for a slowly developing AU, the next chapter might be even more dense. Shippy stuff will likely be saved for the last chapter.
> 
> Comments and critisim are greatly appreciated! I don't know when I'll post next, seeing as I'm going to be super busy for the next week or so, but keep your eyes open and hopefully I'll have something soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Middles.

With still no luck on Thanos' whereabouts, he finds himself up in the middle of the night again. Scott's being staying at the Compound, in a spare room in between Natasha's and the currently empty Sam's. He's got a full list of everyone who's missing now but stopped reading it after the first page. The Stark tech lays forgotten in the corner, next to the one backpack he has.

Currently, he's stirring a cup of tea. Banner keeps a collection that apparently has dwindled significantly after the Decimation. Only four days later and that's what they're calling it, along with the Snap.

Scott feels a headache coming on.

"Make me a cup?"

Scott startles and spills about half of his drink down the front of his shirt. It's not scalding, because he let it sit too long, but he still feels the shock on his skin. He spins around.

"Shit, shit! Sorry." Clint rushes over, clad in his own sleepwear (very purple), exhibiting real guilt on his face. It's one of the first emotions Scott's seen from him for awhile.

Not like he's been around the guy much; Clint spends all his time with Natasha in his room. He'd slipped away without a word the night they'd brought him back and, after hours of worried searching, had been dragged back, practically by the ear, by a very worn out Rhodes. Everyone had faced him down with questions and cold glares. Scott had been sitting in the corner in panicked silence, he barely knew what was going on, and then a shouting match how started up between Clint and Rogers that ended with him secluding himself in the sulky part of the Compound that was his room.

Scott hadn't seen him since then, but apparently he'd gone out yesterday. He's not the emotional type, it seems, or one for long and drawn out recoveries, because his eyes are already clear again and he's not hunched in on himself.

If he hadn't been drenched in tea, Scott probably would have been impressed.

"How 'bout I make my own instead, and another one for you."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Scott laughs as Clint hands him a bunch of paper towels.

"No, no. Let me." Scott can't really stop him, because he's already headed to the cupboard. So instead he pats himself down, or tries to, and finding no progress, throws the paper towels into the compost bin. He appreciates the sentiment, though, even if this was his only other clean shirt of the three he currently has.

"Sorry. I forgot that everyone's still on edge," Clint apologizes again as he places the tea boxes on the counter. Scott joins him. "I used to just pop in on the others all the time, and they were just used to it."

He grabs the kettle, and pours the remaining water into Scott's mug. Scott smiles, and murmurs his thanks.

"It's kind of strange to be living with adults again," Clint continues as he moves over to the sink.

"Yeah, I get that," Scott says into the lip of his mug. He takes a sip.

"Gonna elaborate?" Clint asks, and he flips on the water. Scott watches the kettle fill up for a moment, enjoy the rushing sound it fills the kitchen with. The lights are low, and the glowing buttons on the dishwasher wink at him from across the room.

"It's just...different I guess. I'm used to being by myself or with Cassie." Scott pauses at that, to observe Clint's reaction, and he gets a tensing of shoulders. "It's...sorry. You know what kids are like."

"I do," Clint response quietly and quickly, and turns the faucet off. He returns to the stove and places the kettle down.

"You okay?" Scott asks, and he's thinking he should've calculated his statement more carefully because Clint's still shaken. Clint doesn't answer, just flicks the stove on.

"That was really not my place to bring it up and I apologize," Scott tells him regretfully. He gets no response, and tightens his grip. He doesn't want to set Clint off again, mostly because this time he doesn't have Natasha to protect him. To occupy his mind, he swishes his mug around while he waits, eyes fixed on Clint's ear and the wire that curls around it.

"No, you're good. You're actually the only other person in this place I'd consider talking to about it," Clint finally says. Scott knows he's thinking about Natasha. What a coincidence. He takes another thoughtful sip of his tea and watches Clint tap his fingers on the edge of the counter.

"Do you want to?"

"Hm?"

"Talk about it? About anything?"

Clint turns and looks at him hard. Scott has a sudden impulse to hide his face behind the mug. He manages to keep still, but that aura of relaxation he was trying to portray is gone in an instant. His head hammers.

"I don't know if I'm quite ready for that, Lang. But I appreciate the offer. Maybe another day."

Scott doesn't know what to say, but anything he was planning on maybe trying to would've been cut off by the scream of the kettle anyways. Clint nods at him and turns away.

"That was quick," Scott notes, unable to stop himself.

"Stark tech," Clint explains. Of course. The kettle is goddamn red and gold. Clint rubs his fingernail on the handle as he pours the hot water into his mug. Scott is entranced by the way the steam floats into the ceiling.

"I'm really sorry about the tea," Clint apologizes once more, avoiding his eyes.

"And again, it's okay. I'm really skittish; it's not your fault."

Clint sighs, contorted and frustrated like Scott had just insulted him instead of forgiven.

"It is though, isn't it?" He swipes his mug off the table, and takes a long drink. His back is turned, and Scott isn't sure if he should say anything. "Come on. I'll get you some shirts."

He takes off. Scott feels he doesn't have any choice but to follow him. He also doesn't know how Clint knows how he's already out of clothing, but god forbid the rest of the Avengers find out. He runs a hand over his face.

Clint's room is three down from his. He's not surprised to see lights on under doors as they pass. Quickly enough they reach Clint's, and he unceremoniously shoves open the door.

It's very reminiscent of his own, but that fact that Clint just owns more things makes it cluttered. There's pictures, books, clothes literally everywhere, and Scott thinks that the single butter knife shoved in between the wall and the headboard is a definite safety hazard. Natasha had gone back to the house a few days ago to pick up things on a list Clint had written for her. Scott's reminded of the fact that Natasha's been the only one in his room since they'd brought him to the Compound, so the invitation in is a great development.

"Here. This should last you the week. If you need anymore just ask Rhodey, I guess. He's about your height, right?" Clint tosses him a fistful of shirts that looks relatively unworn. Scott sets his mug down on the dresser and gives them a quick look.

Black, grey, unknown band, two flannels. Great. At least it won't look like his wardrobe's changed.

"Thanks. I really do appreciate it," he says, and puts them under his arm.

"Yeah, no. It's fine."

Clint pauses then, and crosses his arms. He looks deep in thought, or perhaps just angry. After a few seconds, he speaks again.

"Look. I'm-. If-." He stops again. Scott waits patiently. Clint takes a deep breath, and turns to face him. His eyes are close to soft. "Just, sorry about everything. You didn't really deserve to be roped into...all of this." Clint waves his hands above his head. "And sorry I've been so shitty to you."

"No, no. Don't apologize for that," Scott stops him, and his voice is sincerely pleading. "Not right now. Not when you're in this state of mind. We're all going through something right now, and you can't be expected to adjust so quickly. I, at least, think that you shouldn't be held to that. I'm no Avenger, but we'll say I'm close enough. Take a break, Clint. Just for a bit. If you dwell on _it_ too much, nothing will go back to normal."

Clint stares at him. Scott goes hot in the face again.

"I-you get what I'm trying to say."

"Yeah, I do! I do," Clint assures him. "You just talk a lot sometimes."

Scott looks down.

"It's a good thing though, trust me," Clint assures him. He smiles. "You should probably do it around everyone else more often." A tiny rainbow of emotions in one hour now. Real, true progress. Scott can feel his lips twitching up without his consent.

"Oh. Yeah?" Breathlessly.

"Yeah." Clint says back, and the smile sticks. There's a beat where nothing happens, and then Clint's back to straight faced and he's waving his hands. "Go to sleep now. I need my room back."

"Alright, alright. Sorry to bother you." He's still grinning stupidly.

Scott makes his way back to the door, scooping up his mug as he goes, and Clint follows behind. He leans against the frame, watches Scott rearrange the shirts in his arms. It's blindingly bright in the room compared to the hallway, like standing on the porch of an apartment late in the evening.

Not far off.

"Night, Clint," Scott says.

"Goodnight," Clint says back, and shuts the door.

He stands there for a second, feeling the weight in his arms. Things of an Avenger. He's no Captain America, but Scott decides that'll do, mostly because his headache's starting up again.

 

:::

 

Stark arrives back on Earth twelve days after the Decimation. Scott, who was there during New York, is not surprised that it's on a fancy spaceship that looks very bird-like. The surprise comes from the fact that apparently, it's not his.

"What?" Banner asks him when Scott explains, jumping to his feet.

"Yeah, Cap says come quickly," Scott yells, more in his general direction than to him, because he's already out the door again.

It's early in the morning, maybe five or six or so. Apparently that's his opinion alone, though, because by the time Scott wakes up at eight each morning everyone else is already up and about. The barely there sun shines on the back of the ship as it touches down on the lawn.

Steve, Natasha, Rocket (the raccoon did have a name) Clint, and Rhodey are already spread out on the grass, eyes unblinking at the thing. There's something glowing underneath it, yellow and swirling, and Scott realizes with a start it's a person. The ship is set down on the ground, and they disappear. Steve rushes towards the ship, the other Avengers close on his heel. The glowing person emerges from the side of it, and cocks a grin. She's got blonde hair and a red and blue superheroesque uniform that's got Scott wondering if he should recognize her.

Steve brushes past her, worry painted on his face. Natasha nods at her, a simple thanks, but there's nothing more than that. Scott follows them, one curiosity jumping to the next. He supposes he can ask questions later.

The hatch of the door opens. Scott watches from the back, popped up on his toes.

Stark, looking starved and tired and dehydrated, and somehow worse than Clint had two weeks ago, emerges all stumble-legged from the belly wearing a long red (Cloak? Cape? Blanket?) and followed closely behind by what looks like a blue robot.

Scott pops his mouth into a straight line, because apparently this is what they're doing today.

"Tony," Steve says, and steps forward to support him. Tony looks up at him, a cocktail of emotions on his face, but nods. Rhodey is at his side soon enough too, and Tony visibly sags into them. They start walking back to the Compound. The robot stays at the mouth of the ship, and Scott throws a glance over his shoulder. It looks away.

"Hey. How you holding up, Tones?" He hears Rhodey asks. Scott turns back to watch them, and falls behind in step with the raccoon.

Tony sighs, pushes it hard past his lips.

"Fine. Dandy. Great." He looks up. If Scott recognizes discontentment or frustration in the way he says it, it's gone in an instant when Tony suddenly stops and his head flits back to Steve.

"Where's Pepper?" he demands.

Oh, right. Pepper Potts, Stark's on again off again girlfriend/occasional hookup/arm candy/fiancé. Scott stopped reading the gossip magazines on them years ago, because he has other Avengers to be too deeply invested in the lives of. But despite whatever Pepper is to the man, Scott can hear the twist in his voice that sets off the 'Take a Few Steps Back or Maybe Run' alarm in his head.

Rhodey and Steve share a look.

"Dammit." It's barely there. Broken teacups, Scott imagines.

That doesn't seem like the response anyone was expecting, based on the way a few uncertain pairs of eyes land on Stark's back.

"Tony, we need to update you on some-"

Stark cuts Steve off with a wave of his hand, a sort of zip-it gesture.

"No, not right now. Does it look like I'm in the mood for a bit of chit-chat Rogers? No, _I_ need to update _you_ on a few things. Run your little patriotic message about moving on by me later because I know that's exactly what you plan on doing." He says this loud, over the starting protest. "Just, let me deal with things later, alright? We've got a situation."

He pats the collar of the outerwear on his shoulders, and his face deepens.

"Whether it's good or bad is yet to be decided."

Scott nearly has an aneurism when the thing pats him back.

 

:::

 

"How'd it go?" Scott questions, as soon as Clint leaves the room. Clint sniffs, runs a hand on the back of his neck.

"Ehh, 'bout as well as you'd expect. We didn't say anything for like five minutes, he started yelling at me, I started yelling at him, we didn't say anything for another five minutes, and then he asked about the kids." Clint taps a hand on his hip and turns to Scott. "Then he passed out from the drugs."

"Oh," Scott says. He frowns. "Did he tell you anything else about Strange?"

Clint shakes his head.

"Nope. The only person he's given any more information on him is Rhodey. He won't tell me either. Best friend blood oath or somethin'."

After they'd taken Tony back to the Compound, Scott had been kicked out of the conference room for his of lack of Avenger status. He'd sat on a bench outside, staring up at the tall white ceiling. Rocket was outside with the robot and the ship, and glowing lady (Carol Danvers, she'd introduced herself as) had left after talking with him for only a minute. He'd heard a bang inside the room after a bit of waiting, some confused shouting, and then Natasha and Clint had come out to join him. Clint's story went that since Stark was lacking in basically everything a person needed to function properly, he'd fainted in the middle of yelling at Rogers. They'd gone to place him under intensive care, where he's been for the past day.

However, Clint had persisted, the situation he'd been so cryptic about turned out to be a ghost-like projection of presumed to be dead Dr. Stephen Strange that had being popping in and out of his personal space for the past few weeks. Stark claimed the apparition talked him to death half the time with instructions that had made his brain go fuzzy, but Natasha said she speculated it was just the dehydration and 'two bloated egos in one tiny ship'. Strange had seemingly died on a planet called Titan Stark had crash landed on along with a chipper teenager named Peter Parker and a rag-tag space alien gang. And there too, it seemed, they'd failed to stop Thanos. Stark hadn't elaborated on why that'd been the outcome when asked.

That's all the details he knew so far, and Scott had the feeling it'd probably be the only ones he'd ever have.

"I'm sure he'll tell us all eventually," he says anyways, ever the optimist.

"Mm. I'm not so sure," Clint grunts. He taps at his hip again. Scott watches the small gesture, and unable to help himself, he lets a little grin slip. Ah yes, the fast growing development Scott's been harboring the past week or so makes it return.

"What?" Clint asks, because of course he notices.

"Nothing, nothing." Despite this, he lets the small quirk of lips stay put.

He's happy to say he's adjusted to living at the Compound rather quickly. The first week had been pretty rough, but after a few meals together and a couple of public events, he's practically a full fledged Avenger now (minus the glim and glamour).

Banner is a science guy like him, though Scott's more into building things while Banner likes to see what they do. They've sat down a few times already and talked about his suit or the Hulk thing, but that's about it.

Surprisingly, it's Rocket he's had the more stimulating conversations with. The raccoon is the repairmen of his crew, who. understandably, he doesn't talk to anyone about. He's angry and bitey but says he's trying to get better. He tells Scott it's because he still struggles with loss that now leaves little mark and that which is still fresh in his head, and the Snap just helped to amplify that. Scott offers his condolences and Rocket makes an attempt of his own, and they fix the breaker box one Tuesday morning together when it goes out.

Rocket, Banner, and Thor have started to make more frequent disappearances every few weekends. According to Rocket, Thor's trying to find a home for his twice homeless people. Scott doesn't know how he plans on doing that, but Thor hardly talks to him and Rocket is still in the process of figuring out human customs, so of course he wouldn't know.

Steve is busy all the time. He's not surprised that he and the Captain haven't had more than one proper conversation, because he's busy all the time and the whole world needs a poster boy right now. But when Steve shakes his hand one time, and tells him he's done a good job after a check in on Vermont, Scott finds he still can't help the dopey, stuttering grin that spreads across his blushing face.

Rhodey is either with Rogers, out on a mission, or in the gym at the barre when Scott sees him. He still can't help the catch in his throat whenever he sees the guy tuning up his braces, even though Rhodey has assured him before that it's alright. They don't talk about Germany, no one does, but Rhodey has told him about Sam before. Scott thinks it'd been on a weekday morning, and he'd been eating cereal, and then he'd been joined by the colonel at the table. In an awkward attempt to start conversation, Scott had asked him about family, and so Rhodey had quietly mentioned Wilson. He never blamed him for not catching him, for not talking to him, for not thinking about him before he ran off. He finishes his story in that straight to the point, no emotions way Scott's gotten used to and they don't really speak again afterwards.

He does however, often find himself in the company of Natasha. She's willing to spar with him when she's not working on something, and even though Scott gets his ass handed to him every time, he finds himself really enjoying their sessions. She teaches him a new sweep or a different way to block a punch every time they fight, tells him about some of the stupid messes she and the other Avengers have found themselves in in the past, and quietly hums the melody to songs Scott doesn't recognize but finds himself growing fond of. She's the one he most often eats lunch with, even though it's usually just take-out or peanut putter sandwiches. By the time Natasha's slowly going Black Widow red again, Scott is certain that they're both friends now. He's talked to her about Cassie and she'd patiently listened every time, telling him that she couldn't wait to meet her. With wet eyes and a hopeful smile, Scott had said he couldn't wait either.

Clint is the biggest development. He's gradually started to return to the person Scott recognizes from the media. He cracks lame jokes that Scott is often the only one to find genuinely funny, practices his shot instead of staying in bed all day, and engages in conversation with the others when he can. According to Nat, him lounging about on the stairwell, perching precariously on high up porch railings, and sitting on counters is a great improvement. He and Scott have started growing closer together too.

After the whole tea incident, Scott finds himself low on shirts again, and, unable to catch Rhodey at the right time, a cycle starts. He starts borrowing more and more of Clint's clothes, which starts off as a conscious thing, but by the time week two rolls around, it seems like whoever's doing laundry has no idea what belongs to who. It's always a gamble if he'll be wearing a recently purchased graphic tee he'd gotten from Target or some button up and t-shirt he's never seen before in his life. He finds himself barely caring, no one else points it out, and based on the fact that he's seen seen Clint in his jeans several times now, he doesn't care either.

Later, Clint sits him down one night, after a long day of check-ins near the west coast, and opens up about his family. He's truly vulnerable and honest, and is looking for familiarity and not pity, and Scott is beyond willing to give and receive. It's nice to have someone who knows exactly what he's feeling, and he hopes that Clint is getting the same level of support and relief that he is through their chats. He likes to believe he is, because Clint is willing to smile at him now, and eat breakfast with him, and accompany him to civilian support groups.

Three weeks later, his palms start to sweat and his heart flutters like a Disney movie bird at the thought of the guy, and Scott curses himself and spends two hours on a Friday night with his face in hands over the sink in the bathroom. He finds himself confused, because this isn't the same thing as Cap, and it's farther from Maggie or Hope than he can admit. A feeling he thought he knew is suddenly foreign and decidedly unfriendly, if his attempts at quelling it are anything to go by.

Scott tries to ignore it as much as possible, because there are still bigger things going on at the moment. Still, he can't help but enjoy the few sparks of unknown that crackle in his head and his chest and his stomach at night.

Damn him and his easily smitten self.

 

:::

 

Everything goes wrong.

The Avengers lose. Again.

Unsurprisingly, neither him nor Banner nor Clint take the news well. Stark laughs behind his hand, a small noise that breaks into a sigh and a defeated shrug, and Clint screams at him and Banner sits looking horrified at the corner.

There's a noise outside, the now familiar one of the Benatar touching down in dew drop grass, so Scott turns to leave. Banner stays behind and ushers them off, and Stark continues to shake his head and his smile wavers. He covers his mouth with his hand, closes his eyes and sighs once more. Clint shouts a final 'Fuck you, Stark' before he slams the door shut.

He stands still, knuckles turned white, and his lip is turned up to reveal tight locked teeth.

Scott doesn't know if even he can do anything. He doesn't have a small but uplifting thing to tell Clint, a comforting physical gesture is out of the question with the way his arms are locked to his sides, and he can't find it in himself to break into one of his long speeches, not even when that's what Clint encouraged him to do more often.

He's nothing but stone.

Clint turns to him.

"What happened, Scott? What did they do?" It's scratched, but not in the sweet way it had been when Clint had smiled and cried and turned to Scott to tell him they were coming home.

Scott stares at him, unsure but wanting.

"Scott. What did they do?" Clint demands again, this time more desperate.

"I-I don't know. Clint I really don't-" He cuts himself off, surprised at his own ability to speak. Clint holds his steely glare, seemingly determined in his own mind that Scott was there and Scott has the answers and it was Scott's fault and it's just Scott Scott Scott. But-

"Clint, I don't know," Scott says hushed, strained so it sounds more like a plea.

"God damnit, Scott! Work with me here, what the hell went wrong? Who the fuck messed up what?" Clint takes a step towards him, and his fingers are curled in, and while his face isn't as contorted with anger as it had been at the barn, Scott still feels his heart pick up and he back steps quickly.

"Clint, you need to calm down. I don't know," he tries, and his voice shakes.

"They were supposed to bring them back," Clint insists, voice still tightly drawn and icy, but Scott can see something crack. The twitch of a lip, the rapid blinking of eyes.

"They tried. I'm sure they tried," Scott says quietly, but even he struggles to believe it. He finds himself blinking as well, and he breathes in. "We weren't there, Clint. They-they said they'd tell us when they got back."

He mentally braces himself after that, for Clint to see red and leap at him with throat-cutting, viscous insults, or with his hands poised for gouging, or to just stalk away like he had with Stark. He waits, and waits, but then the mask breaks. And Clint's face falls.

He's back to how he was at the farmhouse, when they were balanced above the hay floor on that dusty beam, his face like shattered glass with a hundred different lines showing a thousand little tipping points.

Clint falls forward towards him, catching onto Scott, who tenses, heart freezing and coming to a stop. He's being gripped like a life preserver, but there's not whole body heavy sobbing, just little jumping shocks like being in freezing water. He doesn't know what to do, and he finds himself in a familiar state of stillness for the briefest of seconds, because when did he become a lifeline?

The sign-up? The snap? The airport?

Perhaps it was the farmhouse.

Scott sighs, and rests an arm over Clint's shoulder. The guy's shivering, and who can blame him, because, damn, when did the world become such a cold place? Scott idly rubs his thumb over his shoulder blade. And he's shushing. He's whispering affirmations again like he would to his child.

It all comes from Cassie, everything he knows. God, where would he be without her?

What would've happened if hadn't helped her pick out her first backpack and drive her to school when she'd been to worried to join the carpool? If he hadn't stayed up with her to three in the morning watching brain rotting television all those times, and telling her to never do it again before they'd started giggling? If he hadn't held her close to his chest, and doted and murmured with that watery smile on his face and little welcomes to the world?

He's not slow, he never has been. But in that moment of quiet self reflection, it all suddenly hits him. It takes until then.

Scott grips Clint tighter.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Clint sniffs, shakes his head into Scott's chest.

"Damn it, no, Scott. It's not you, it's never you, I just can't do this anymore."

He shifts. There's a calmness that returned quickly, Scott realizes. He just wishes it stopped doing so because of hackles raised and shouting matches. They've all been trying, so, so hard, but it seems that they just can't. Scott's a cheerful guy but even he can't smile twenty four seven.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I can't keep doing this to you, to Nat. To everybody. I'm doing my best, I promise." His voice cracks on the last syllable, and there's a pause and ragged breaths as Clint composes himself. "It's getting harder though, y'know? I just...I want to see them. They told us both we'd see them again, Scott. Aren't you a little pissed, upset, anything?" Scott keeps his eyes locked onto the floor, but he feels a gaze shift to him.

He swallows. He needs to.

"Course I am. I just- I'm not used to it." He's being sincere.

"I know." Is what he gets in response.

It's that tired, drained tone that really drives Scott over the edge. He bursts into tears, ones he's been holding in for the past two weeks, and now he's the one being held and comforted.

They cry in the hallway for a long time. The rest of the team meets up with them, but no words are exchanged. Rhodey disappears into Stark's room, and Nat rests her hand on their shoulders, and it's quiet and cold in that hallway. He drops his arms from Clint after awhile. They lock eyes, and Scott again finds a million different words in that exhausted and hurting look. His chest seizes painfully tight, so he turns and leaves with a muttered 'sorry' and focuses on the faint burning of tears rolling down his cheeks.

For the first time since Scott'd gotten that sunbeam of hope, he feels like they've truly lost.

 

:::

 

"Hey. How you doing?"

Her voice is soft, motherly even in its gentleness.

Scott blinks.

"Not...great if we're being honest."

There's the clicking of tongue to teeth from the doorway, and he hears quiet footsteps as Natasha walks over. She settles down at the foot of his bed, one well made and tidy, because Scott's not like Clint.

Something burns, and he has to rub his hands down his face.

"I'm so sorry, Scott. We did what we could."

"Yeah, yeah I know."

"You don't sound fully convinced."

"Can you blame me?"

He's not exactly angry, doesn't spit it out like an insult, but there's something behind it that Scott often struggles to grasp and use. Natasha doesn't respond. Through his fingers and with a tilt of his head, he can see she's got her hands crossed in her lap, brow furrowed. He pauses, deciding on his next move.

"We really trusted you guys, you know? I haven't seen Clint that excited in weeks." _That_ holds bitterness. If he weren't so tired he'd be embarrassed.

"Scott..." she starts, and turns to look at him, but that just fires him up more.

"He cried. In like, a happy way. Great improvement, right? Yeah, you all shot that to pieces," he mutters, still balancing on the edge of frustrated.

"You weren't there, Scott. We told you what happened. This isn't one you can put on us."

"Nothing? Really? There was literally nothing you could've done?" He doesn't hold back on the barely dusted, rarely used sarcasm this time.

"Yes, Scott. He destroyed them and there was nothing we could do."

She sounds like she's explaining it to a child. Scott feels so stupid, and with the way his hands are curled over his eyes and his voice wavering again and his emotions unchecked, he might as well be.

"I...just feel so bad," he groans half heartedly.

"It wasn't your fault," Natasha assures him.

"I know, I know. He just has a lot to deal with, and I thought that this'd been the end of it for him."

She goes quiet again. Scott waits a moment, expecting her response, but he gets nothing. He peeks through his fingers again, sees her staring at the wall in pensive silence. He frowns.

"You good?" he asks. Natasha glances at him, held tilted.

"For a small little man like yourself, you sure do try awfully hard to shoulder the world," she says.

"What?" he sputters, caught off guard.

"We're all suffering right now," she explains. "No one is taking this especially easy. That means you too. You've done a pretty good job of keeping up with everyone, though, and staying all...smiley. But you don't have to, Scott. Not even for Clint." Scott almost shouts something indignant, and throws an arm over his mouth. Natasha watches him, smiles in a way that seems sad.

"Sorry. It seemed like a good opportunity to say that. He may look like he's made of old, useless stone, but Clint's a lot more complex than that. You may not be ready to help him, Scott, with the way you are. It's alright if you like fixing things. It's useful, at times. Don't stop talking to him, or any of us for that matter. We all appreciate what you've done, I promise. But we can't commit to anything right now, no matter what that means. As an Avenger, your duty to fix the world has to come first."

"I- don't know what you mean by that. I'm just trying to help him," Scott says haughtily in response to her little speech. Natasha's smile dips.

"That's not a problem. But you want something out of it, don't you?"

Scott glares at her.

"Jesus, Natasha. The guy lost his family! Am I not allowed to help him out without wanting a reward out of it? If he did that to me I'd think that'd be pretty screwed up."

Natasha looks down.

"So you're doing it because...you're missing Cassie, and you see someone else like yourself, and you know how much it can all hurt. And you're missing her and you know what emptiness feels like, so you're going after two birds with one stone."

"I-what? How did you come-" He cuts himself off, and thinks about it.

If it's not self gratification, and he has choose one, then that means the second option is a total nail on the head.

"I guess you're right."

"Your mood spawns from a lot of different areas, Scott. That might not just be it," Natasha says.

He sighs, slightly frustrated. Sometimes he thinks she does the whole 'maybe' game just to screw with him.

"Yeah, again, I guess you're right. I was just so ready to see her again, ya know?" He's propped up on one elbow at this point. Natasha watches him worriedly. "Of course, I'm used to being without her. I once went like, two months? It was absolute hell but I did it. This, this should be alright too. But-"

He cuts off the incoming protest he sees.

"She's dead now, isn't she? God, Natasha, I killed her didn't I? Or I at least didn't do _enough_. I followed Cap to Germany, I ran around with the Pyms under house arrest, I didn't do enough. Is that why I'm like this? Why I'm so useless to you all?"

"Scott," He lets her say it this time. "That's not what I mean. Listen to yourself. You're not useless. You just aren't in the right mind to patch Clint- _all_ of us back up."

"But-"

"Scott."

He freezes at that, because suddenly she's not so comforting anymore. He can feel the chill wash over the room.

"I know it's hard. We're all going through it, all over again. I know how you're feeling. I was excited to see Clint like that too. We've been friends for years, I love him a lot, and I love his kids a lot."

He hears shuffling, and then Natasha's right beside him, studying his face.

"We'll do what we set out to, Scott. We always do. Thanos is going to get what he ultimately deserves, and if you need to be the one to stab that asshole's heart out, I will do everything in my power to get you there."

He blinks. Tears; perhaps that of a man ashamed? Heartbroken? Comforted?

"You aren't as alone as you think, Scott. You aren't alone in your hurting either. I know how used to independence you are, but you're apart of a team now. We help each other heal. Everyone does, not just one, single, small little man." She smiles at him then, and Scott laughs past his crying. "You'll get there in time, Scott. You're not ready for certain things, but you can have friends and a team. Whatever it is you need right now, whether it's me and Clint, the others, or none of us at all, I want you to know that the Avengers are one that you can fall back on. "

Natasha offers her arms to him, and he pulls her close, mindful not to get her hair wet.

"Even after everything?" he asks, because maybe the Raft's made him a skeptic.

"Yes," Natasha says, with enough gentle assuredness that Scott can't help but believe her.

And even though he knows she's right, about Clint and about his daughter, he can't help but feel bitter.

She's offered him some comfort, at least.

 

:::

 

He's sitting at the kitchen table making toast when the idea comes to him. It hits him the same moment his breakfast jumps out of the toaster, and he jumps and knocks over his bar stool. While picking up his mess, he mumbles to himself, goes over the numbers and the notes in his head just to be sure. And he is. If they can do it correctly, if they have the right minds at the right time, he doesn't see why it can't be possible.

"Shit," he says aloud to his plate. He almost doesn't want to believe it, because last time he thought they got close he'd broken down when they'd lost.

But...

Five minutes later, he finds himself standing in front of Stark's recovery room with two pieces of toast and the beginnings of a nervous sweat. Even with the less than spectacular health he'd exhibited only yesterday, Stark is still a loud, imposing man. Scott's far from comfortable around him, and he assumes Iron Man barely even cares who he is, or least doesn't care enough to remember anything beside the time Scott'd grabbed his BFF by the leg and swung him around like an unfiltered tennis player.

He shifts nervously, and knocks on the door.

"Just a minute!" The reply is instantaneous.

In a second there's some muttering, a click, and Scott takes that as the okay to come in. He's surprised to see that it even was locked in the first place, but more confused how Stark managed to open it without getting out of bed.

"How'd you do that?" he asks, unable to help himself.

"Little nanotech trick. I'm in superhero timeout right now, but really that just encourages me." He flashes a patented grin. "Probably should lock up my toys better, no?"

"Uh, yeah." He smiles awkwardly back.

Stark doesn't bother to offer him a seat, so Scott stays hovering next to his bed. He watches Stark eye the plate, look back at him, and squint.

"They send you down to bring me breakfast? Usually Bruce does that."

"Oh, no. I came down to talk and thought I'd...Well...I don't know. I thought you might be hungry?" God, he sounds pathetic right now.

But Stark doesn't really seem to care, unsurprisingly, and just throws a hand out, grabbing.

"And that I am. Hand it over."

Scott hands him one of the two pieces, and decides to settle down in the chair propped next to the iv tube. There's a hoodie thrown over the back and a pillow tucked underneath, so it seem like Stark's been getting campers. He sets the plate down under the chair, and starts on his slice.

"You better not be here on Cap's orders," Stark says suddenly. He's already finished eating. "I'm getting sick of that guy coming in and projectile vomiting niceties and condolences." He sticks out his tongue, miming a gag. Scott bristles, and Stark throws him a look. "Oh, right. Forgot you were his number one bug-boy. Unfortunately I'm not much of a fan. I'm more of a Thor guy myself."

"No, that's not why I'm here," Scott coughs. "You may remember that I worked with Hank Pym on and off." Stark rolls his eyes, but nods. Scott does his best to ignore this. "Well, one of the things we were doing a lot of research on was the Quantum Realm. It's like a really, really small place that I can access with my suit or with a machine in the back of my truck."

"What?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds weird, but hear me out." He pauses. "I think we can use the Quantum Realm as a way to defeat Thanos. Before this whole Snap thing, Hope and Hank and I were working on bringing...someone...back from the Quantum Realm who had been gone for decades. But when they came out, it had barely been a day in their time. And I don't really know what that means for us, but there's gotta be something there, right?"

Stark stares at him, cocks his head.

"You...want me to build you a time machine."

"Yeah? I think so?"

"No."

"That's great! When can-" He blinks. "Wait, what? No?"

"That's what I said." Stark's response is dry, and he closes his eyes and leans his head back. Scott just stares at him, shocked, frustrated, mouth wide open. He pushes out of his chair.

"What- You can't say 'no' to something like this! If we pull this off, man, we could actually bring everyone back!"

"Okay, first of all, don't ever call me 'man' again, and second of all, it's still a no."

"But why?"

Stark sighs.

"Do I look like someone who is able bodied enough to build a time machine? I can barely even walk, let alone assemble a complex time and space warping piece of technology. I don't even know if I have the brain capacity to do something like that right now." He chuckles lightly. "Crazy, isn't it? I guess that's just how the world works sometimes."

"You seriously can't be giving up that easily."

"Already did. You can leave now."

Scott doesn't know what to do. He was so sure that everything would work out. But instead, it looks like Stark's trying to sleep him away. He bitterly thinks he'll probably dream of some perfect world where he's got the suit and the world's back again, and he'll be his normal arrogant, rich asshole self who'll brush Scott off with money.

"I thought you stopped giving up," he says, and risks it.

Stark doesn't stir.

"I thought you stopped giving up after Afghanistan, because I saw the news reports, and you said yourself, however almighty and above-it-all you were."

The man in the bed opens his eyes, and turns to face him. Scott's pulse thrums in his throat, reminding him that he's not unarmed.

"I thought you stopped giving up after the invasion, or at least you were more willing to try."

Stark fixes him with a warning look.

"I thought you stopped giving up after the airport. I know I did. You must've, cuz' you sure didn't like us when we came back. And whatever, I'm over it. But it just proves my point."

"Lang, I'd stop if I were you," Stark bites. Scott glares back.

"We've all lost, but at least some of us are still trying. I don't care if it's today or tomorrow or a week from now, but you can't just give up when someone gives you an option. I've done that, and you've said 'no'. I don't know why that's what you've chosen, but you can't. Aren't you supposed to be an Avenger? Doesn't saving the world come first?"

He's shouting now, and he's thinking about the conversation with Nat, and he never raises his voice but he's just so far gone and so far past the breaking point that he can't help it.

"What do you know about being an Avenger?" Stark snaps. "I've been doing this shit for ten years, and you just sauntered in what, two ago? It's not that easy. I can't just do whatever I want when I want. Not anymore."

"What about my kid, Stark?" That gets his attention. "What about Clint's? What about Pepper and Parker? You're just gonna let them die all over again?"

Stark's eyes flash open and turns directly to face Scott. He's seen that face before, not one he knows well, but there was anger in Germany too. Scott stands his ground, even though he hardly wants to at this point. The background noise goes dead silent as Stark stares unblinking.

"I did not let them die," he whispers. "I did everything in my power to stop that from happening. It was not my fault that _some of us_ could not keep our emotions in check. I didn't stray from my own plan because I was upset when we were this close." He squeezes his fingers together. His hand is shaking. "I didn't give up our key to victory at the last second because I was feeling sentimental. I did not let them die, and me not helping you is _not_ letting them die again."

Scott stares down at him. His hands shake. Even though he feels like he's being ripped open at the seams by those wide, unfeeling eyes, he finds it in himself to make one last remark. Perhaps the last month has made him braver.

Perhaps it's made him more foolish.

"I thought Iron Man didn't give up." Quietly. Like he wasn't supposed to know.

It's a stupid thing to say, but he turns and leaves the room anyways.

  
:::

 

"Wr-aench. Wrench." Scott turns his earpiece back on. "I dunno. Still sounds weird to me."

"You just say it funny," he says back.

Rocket gives him one of those disbelieving smirks, and stops on the wiring.

Scott frowns back at him but hands him the wrench anyways. They've been doing this for about an hour now; trading tools back and forth and trying to pronounce each other's alien words. It turns out that in space, communication gear goes like Stark Expo tickets, and anybody who's anybody (and lives on a second world planet at least) has some sort. They're practically intergalactic cellphones, and the Benetar had enough spares for mostly everyone at the Compound.

Scott's found them way more amusing than he should for a man of his age.

"I think that should do it. She doesn't break down a lot, but Groot liked to chew the wires when he was younger so I had to fix 'er up all the time." Rocket closes the panel back in, and turns to face Scott. "It was rather annoying."

Scott smiles, and places the wrench back in his toolbox.

"Sounds kind of like a cat," he chuckles lightly. Rocket cocks a brow.

"What's a cat?"

Scott frowns once more. He settles back on his heels, eye level with the raccoon.

"Um...they kind of look like you? Walk on four legs, pointy ears, make a 'meowing' sound, have long tails? I think Danvers had one. Maybe she has pictures."

"No, wait, I think I've seen one of those before." Rocket perks up. "Yeah, bastard was digging around in the compost a few days back. It would've been cute if I wasn't so horrified by the way it screamed when I shot at it."

Scott blanches.

"You _shot_ at it?!"

Rocket suddenly bursts into laughter that is rather loud and sort of scratchy. Scott's face immediately falls into a glare, but he really can't help the faint bubble of amusement in his own chest. Such hilarities are often at the expense of others for Rocket. Perhaps it's rubbing off on him.

"Nah. Just messing with ya. You Terrans are very gullible."

"Just me, actually. And can you really blame me?" He flattens his mouth, tilts his head. Rocket brushes him off.

"Yeah, yeah. C'mon, one more look around and then we should go eat."

Scott grabs the toolbox and follows him off. Repairs to the ship had been minimal; they really _hadn't_ been using it all that much. During the times they had, Rocket and Nebula (well, mostly Rocket) had reported that space was just as quiet as Earth seemed to be, though it was predicted to erupt into chaos in just a few weeks. At least more than normal, it seemed.

Scott watches Rocket hop up into the upper inner workings, prod around at the piping. Seemingly satisfied, he drops back down.

"Looks good. That tape stuff worked just as well as you said it would, and I really don't like tape. We'll be able to bolt it closed tomorrow."

"Of course. I spent several months building large, intricate things out of cardboard. I consider myself to be something of a duct tape expert," Scott tells him.

"Sure," Rocket agrees, but his voice laughs underneath his usual sarcasm.

They make their way down the rest of the long hallways, branching off to check on previous repairs or things that might turn into future ones. There's not much to be concerned about, and Scott feels a touch of pride. Eventually they reach the main set of living quarters, and Scott plants himself at the edge of the line while Rocket makes his way inside each.

It's an unspoken agreement between them; that he never follows.

It always only takes a few minutes. Rocket darts back and forth between the rooms with barely any commentary. There's never any problems, at least ones that Scott can solve, so he just waits patiently and carries items that Rocket retrieves when they're too much in weight or quantity.

It's very rare when that happens, but so far Rocket's taken from the Benetar a red scarf, a clay pot, a closed and clasped case, a silvery rock, a red boomerang looking thing, a Zune (how in hell he got that Scott doesn't know), a set of silver rings, and a soft, weathered book of star maps. He doesn't know what he's been doing with them, probably storing them in his room at the Compound, but it's sort of like watching an animal scavenge. Scott thinks that it's probably a rude comparison to make though, so he keep his mouth shut.

Rocket comes out of the last room, quiet as always, and this time, to Scott's surprise and interest, he's got something clasped in his hands. When he does bring something out, it's most commonly a lot of different things, but this time he just has one. It's a long silver stick of sorts, like a thin and streamlined paintbrush.

He doesn't ask and Rocket doesn't offer an explanation.

"What sounds good?" Scott tries instead.

Rocket shrugs.

"Eh, I'm down for whatever. I can't remember any of the names of any of your guys' food if we're being honest."

"I think there's leftovers from Pasta Night. We can just reheat that."

"That's the alfeiendo stuff, right?"

"Alfredo, but close. Want that, or no dice?"

Rocket squints at him, confused.

"Earth term. Never mind. I'll explain it later. We'll just have the pasta."

Rocket nods, and twirls the stick in his hands.

When they have gotten back to the Compound, and Scott's finished microwaving lunch, neither have really said anything. It not unusual, morale isn't exactly at its height right now, so Scott just sets the bowls down and starts eating. Rocket pokes at his own food for a bit before sighing and pushing it away.

"What's up? Is it not warm enough?" Scott asks him mid-chew.

"Ugh, no, just not feelin' hungry I guess."

He's back to rolling the stick on the countertop again. Scott wonders if he'll leave, because he has in the past when a conversation had bored him or he wasn't in the mood.

"You wanna talk about anything?"

Rocket actually pauses then. He stops fumbling with his newly acquired fidget, and looks like he's considering it.

"I...don't really know? Talking is kind of hard." He grimaces, shows off his dull point teeth.

"We don't have to, then," Scott tells him, and starts back again on his pasta.

"Well, I do, but I don't, because it's hard to say what I'm feelin', but I want to tell you what it...is?"

"Take your time then."

"Yeah, I might have to."

They fall back into silence, a bit to his disappointment, but Scott's not going to press (out of both respect and fear). Rocket does start eating, albeit rather tentatively. To distract himself, Scott thinks about aliens eating human food while he finishes his own.

Rhodey drops in real quick to grab the rest of the leftovers, Steve walks by in search of a pen with unnecessary by much appreciated words of praise, and Clint comes in search of bananas.

"Nat's request," he explains casually, as if the last few days never happened.

"Yeah," Scott says, for no reason. His heart aches.

"We were sparring. You should come down some time. Might be fun."

"I do, with her."

"Oh, yeah? That'd be fun to watch." He thinks he can seem him grinning.

Scott smiles.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself. You'd like it if it wasn't you," Clint says sagely, and shakes a banana in his direction.

"Watching people get hurt is very entertaining," Rocket pipes up from behind him. Scott's forgotten he was there.

"Thanks for the support."

"Anytime."

Clint leaves after that, but he's seems a little somber. Before he goes, he asks Scott if they can have a chat sometime ("let's talk again soon, yeah?" was close enough) and Scott feels a bit better and worse at the same time. He glad that they're talking once more, but feels like Clint's brushing everything off too easily, bottling his emotions in a way that's unhealthy. Still.

He's thinking about that (still) when suddenly Rocket calls to him from across the table. He turns back, feeling heavier.

"I think...I do want to talk about some things." His eyes drop, as if ashamed. "If that sounds good."

He can always talk to Clint later, just like he asked. It's not the end of the world if they don't, because Nat will, and perhaps Clint does well with her cryptic words of console. So he nods, smiles.

"Of course!"

"I kinda wanna round up more people first, if ya don't mind. C'mon."

Scott follows him. He eyes their bowls before they go, one scraped clean and the other barely touched. It's a small thing, but it feels like such a conflict, and they shouldn't leave messes because technically they're just guests, and he has proper manners, but he should be going, and-

"Don't worry, I'll come back," Rocket says after a moment, looking up at him, and Scott smiles again.

  
:::

 

After many days of basically tattling Stark out, going over his plan with Steve and Nat, long stress induced naps, and a rocky meeting in the recovery room, they get him to do it. Stark's back to his old self and is already resetting the Compound to his liking. That doesn't amount to much, but because he still hates most of them, he adds a two hour training regiment to their already tight schedules that Scott is not a big fan of.

He supposes he can't complain. News of the 'Time Heist' works its way quickly through the Avengers, and while nobody is particularly confident, they all seem a lot happier. He counts that as a victory.

To kill time while waiting for Stark's breakthrough, Scott takes up Clint's sparring offer. He doesn't seem quite ready for a talk yet, so the two of them and Natasha chip away at their training hours together whenever they have the chance. It's more often than not.

Scott learns that he really, _really_ likes sparring with Clint and does everything in his power to ignore Natasha's looks when he shows it too openly. It's not always easy.

Thor's found a place that looks suitable for his people, but he's too moody (and lacking in Earth knowledge) to figure out the logistics and money required to buy it, so that leaves Banner to frantically sort that and Stark's medication and checkups out. Rhodey briefly takes over looking after his friend, but Stark had bounced back quick enough and declared that he didn't need such smothering when he had a portable doctor of his own.

They're still trying to figure out the Strange thing.

It's a week and a few days after the first tests on the time machine had begun, and Scott's sitting on the couch in the main living space with a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap, an apple juice box in one hand, the TV remote in the other, and a DVD case clenched firmly in between his teeth.

"You look like a puppy with that thing in your mouth," Rocket says to him from where he's perched on the back of the couch. "It's gross, though. Spit it out."

"You don't hold things in your mouth?" Natasha asks from the other end of the sofa, feet propped besides Scott's lap.

"I do, but I get a free pass because I'm a raccoon. Even Quill wasn't embarrassing enough to carry stuff around in his maw like a feral animal."

"Are you feral?" Natasha presses with a smile.

"With a gun, basically. I can just talk, like a funny dog in a cartoon." He mimics the face of what can be assumed as one 'funny dog', but it's a little hard to look at.

"Whe dih ou 'earn so uch aouh ogs?" Scott questions.

"I have no idea what you just said but I'm gonna assume the correct answer was 'yes'." Rocket mumbles, and slides down so he's squeezed between them. Scott spits the case out, sets his drink down, and passes the bowl along to his left.

"How's it going, Cap?" he calls out to Steve, who's still fiddling with the DVD player. He tries to say it as casually as he can, but he probably sounds ridiculous.

"Pretty good I think. It's on the right side now."

"Cool. I'll start it up, you can go back to your seat."

He pushes play, and the familiar staticky sound of a television program filmed long ago crackles from the TV. Scott settles into the couch with a smile, and accepts the popcorn back. Natasha and Rocket are eating their own handfuls, and Steve politely declines any of his own.

It's one of their down days, very few and far between and instituted mostly as a morale booster, a time when at least some of them can just relax for a bit while other people work on being the heroes. Technically they should be training or working on game plans, but the most common tradition is to pick a film of some sort for them all to huddle around and watch while enjoying each other and some typical movie snack.

They'd let Scott pick this time, because he'd made the popcorn. He'd chosen almost immediately; the idea had been with him since the first off day.

Natasha groans and Steve legitimately freezes up at the title screen that pops into view.

"You did _not_ ," Natasha bemoans.

"This is...not a very good surprise," Steve adds weakly.

Scott grins ever wider, though, as a younger version of the Avengers walk on screen and pose in front of the old tower. The narrator proudly announces the name of the documentary that they'll all be subject to for the next hour.

"'Avengers: New York's Modern Day _Olympians_?'" Rocket repeats, dumbfounded.

"Trust me, we did _not_ pick it. I actually objected," Natasha tells him, fixing a pointed glare at Scott. He blinks innocently.

"This is one of my favorite pieces of human media ever created so I'd appreciate it if you'd hush, Natasha, especially because I think this'll be a very important part of your history to show to dear ol' Rocket here."

Rocket gives him another one of those smirks. Natasha stares at him for a second longer, but then it turns to light chuckles and she grins anyways. That quickly becomes loud cackles as soon as Stark's interview starts up, and Steve manages to laugh right along with them all.

Stark is just the same as he is now, so during his segment, Nat mostly tells them about the old tower, about the old job. Steve's part comes up right after, and he hides his face in his hands and complains about his old costume. Scott can't help but grin dumbly during the whole bit, though, as the documentary brings back fond memories of the first time he'd realized his huge, glaring, celebrity crush. Natasha teases him quietly over Rocket's head about it and he rolls his eyes at her.

When her own section comes up, Scott tries his hand at getting back at her but he really doesn't have much to work off of. Rocket comments on the 'weak little Terran gun' she's carrying but lights up just as quickly during her fighting demo. Natasha laughs and blushes throughout it, and Steve recalls how during one of the demos she'd had to read lines, and she'd flubbed so badly that they had to dub her in over later.

They're all having a great time, and Scott's cheeks hurt from how hard he'd been grinning, when Clint's part comes up. Immediately, his laughter dies down.

He can't help but...stare. He's got an ugly melancholy feeling tugging at the back of his brain, but really all he's feeling is fixation. Clint's more open and comfortable with the camera than even Stark, and he radiates such a humor and warmth that Scott feels like sitting next to him and just talking would be unbearably fun. He notes the way his voice drops down when he's serious, the fact his hearing aid is dark purple instead of its current tan, when he crosses his arms to match his legs, how he stutters at the beginning of the answer to a question.

Scott just watches him, and is overcome by sadness. He stays staring, though, finds he just _can't_ look away.

_'Oh, of course I'm just as cool as my coworkers,' He can hear. 'I may not seem that impressive, but how many ordinary guys do you know that run and shoot tiny little arrows at huge, world destroying monsters and live? Right. Just this idiot.'_

Damn himself. Damn it all. Scott can't help but smile blindly bright, so he hides it behind his hand.

"Hey, listen up."

He's startled from his haze, confused by the conflicting audio. Natasha frowns.

"Another Tony segment? I thought we were done."

"Uh, nope. Behind ya," Rocket says, and he's turned away from the TV.

Scott looks behind and there's Stark in flesh and blood, decked out in very oily and abused looking digs. The Cloak (still very creepy in its human like mannerism but decidedly helpful) is floating at his shoulder. He's got a box of the Pym particles Scott'd provided him with under one arm, and looks to currently be very invested in the documentary.

"Woah, where'd you find that? I thought we burned all our copies."

"You did," Steve says, and he gestures for Scott to pause it. "What's up, Tony?"

"I need you all to come with me," he replies, after a pause. "Unfortunately my new brainchild is just sitting in the hangar, sad and gathering dust, so I'd appreciate if you go and praise it so it feels better."

"You did it?!" Scott exclaims, jumping up. The popcorn bowl spills from his lap. "I'll uh- clean that up later."

"You better."

"Wait, have you tested it out yet? Can we put the plan into action now?" Steve asks.

"No, but that's why I came looking for you, Ant-Man." He looks over. "We'll go over the structure again, make sure it's intact and safe, and then you can take a spin on it. Sound good?"

"Uh-sure. No problem. But you're sure it's perfectly safe?" Scott answers hesitantly. Natasha looks up at Stark as well, a similar question in her eyes.

Stark smiles, confident and cocky.

"Of course. If you'll follow me."

He turns around and takes off, Rocket scampering off immediately behind him. Scott brushes the stray popcorn bits back into the bowl and watches Natasha and Steve head off as well with a certain determination, one that is all heroic and reassuring, but he can't help but feel nervous. He grabs the remote, turns the TV off. He allows himself a second to think, to really left everything sink in, before-

"Hey, Scott, get a move on."

He scrambles.

"Sorry! Coming!"

He just pushes it into the back of his mind to deal with later and runs off to join them.

 

:::

 

 

"I'll do it."

They're arguing about how time travel works, with Scott and Rhodey both listing off a number of movie references while Banner and Nebula debunk them with exasperation. At hearing Clint, they all stop to look at him.

"You sure?" Rhodey is the first one to speak.

"Yeah." Is all they get back.

Clint walks over, mindful of the Pym particle case, and stops in front of Scott.

"Why do _you_ want to do it?" Scott can't help but ask. He'll admit that he's got nerves about doing it, afraid if he'll mess it up or end up getting hurt in the process, and that it'll just slow the whole thing down. He'd hate to be a hindrance.

"We should probably check that those of us without experience can handle the shrinking thing. And you don't really seem up for it. I thought I'd take that weight off your shoulders," Clint responds nonchalantly.

Scott looks down, fights the urge to turn red.

"That's probably a good idea. I'll just end up breaking another vial."

Clint grins.

"We already have a suit that's your size," Banner says, and pulls it from a box on the ground. He also grabs a helmet from another box, and hands them over to Clint. "Get changed, and we'll debrief you on the machine."

Twenty minutes later they're doing just that. Nebula and Banner wait at the control panel while Scott quickly tells Clint about Do's and Don'ts. It's just them at the moment, other Avengers who are out and about calling in to say they'd be back as soon as possible.

"When you're shrinking down, you might feel the urge to dodge around things that you see, but you don't have to worry about it. Just relax until you get to the tunnels, and _then_ go into the diving position," Scott rambles.

Clint nods.

"If you get stuck down there, e.g. you don't come back when you're supposed too, Scott'll be the one to take you back out," Banner adds as he fiddles with the board.

"Yup. Just give me your coordinates and we'll be set."

Clint obliges, and leans over so Scott can copy the numbers down on his wrist. He'll travel to his farmhouse, then wait until the machine pulls him back out. He's got free reign to do whatever he wants, which is the main thing Scott's worried about, 'time travel having no consequences on the future' be damned.

Clint pulls his arm back.

"Alright. Good to go?" He asks, and puts on the skeleton of his helmet that's been modeled after Scott's own.

"Yup, once Scott's back down," Bruce affirms.

Scott looks at Clint again, and though it'll probably be a bad hit to his emotional state, he gives him a quick pat on the arm. Clint looks up at him and gives him a slightly confused but relaxed smirk. Yup. That makes something in his chest jump.

"Er-good luck. See you on the other side." He quickly throws in a salute as he turns around to distract himself from the butterflies.

Clint laughs as he runs off. He has to bite his wrist to keep from grinning.

"Here we go," Banner calls out once he's down. He pulls the main switch, and the lights of the machine hum to life. Clint turns his helmet on, and it closes around his face with a sharp click.

"Sending you down in 3...2...1."

In an instant there's a loud flash and brightness bursts into the hangar. Scott squints, and can just catch Clint's form miniaturizing into the Quantum Realm.

"Alright. Barton should be back in just a second..." Bruce mutters, staring intently at a pinging light on the board.

And just as quickly as the flash appeared, it makes an even quicker return.

Scott sighs in relief, but then suddenly his heart rate picks up because Clint's stumbling blindly to one of the light posts and he's breathing heavily enough to be heard through the helmet. Banner and Rhodey cry out worriedly, but Scott rushes up to his side an instant. He places a hand on Clint's back, and carefully, clicks the button to retract his helmet.

Clint is gasping for air.

"Clint, you alright?" Rhodey calls out as he jogs over to the side of the machine. Clint nods frantically, and that trips him over his feet. Scott tightens his hold, and Banner runs up the steps after a second's pause, immediately looking at Clint's wrist pad.

"I-I don't understand. This shows that everything went smoothly. I don't know what happened."

"You okay?" Scott asks, forgetting he'd already answered.

Clint nods, again, but when he looks up, there's fear painted over all his features.

"Can we-go somewhere else? I need a second," he mutters, a rasp laced over his deeper than normal baritone. Scott looks from Banner to Rhodey with concern, but Clint places a hand on his chest.

"Just you. Please."

Scott just about passes out for a million different reasons, but that'd be really shitty of him, so he focus on the concerned looks of Rhodey and Banner that they all share, and nods.

"Yeah, sure."

He half carries Clint down the steps. Banner promises he'll look over the numbers and make sure he fixes whatever the problem is, so Scott offers him a half nod. While they're walking down a Compound hallway, he decides that Clint's bedroom is probably too far away, and they've just stumbled upon a patio, so it's as good a place as any to stop.

Clint leaves his side to lean against the railing, taking in large breaths, so Scott parks himself nearby. He watches Clint breathe in and out until his face has gone from crippled with pain to soft again, and feels that they've both settled down once more.

"What uh, what happened?" Scott asks hesitantly.

Clint looks down at his hands, plays with the thumb of his glove before he answer.

"I got to the farmhouse. Right outside, inside the tool shed. I went out, looked around a bit, made my way to the house." He pauses. "I-I heard my kids."

Scott drops his eyes.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Clint."

"Not really something to be sorry about," Clint tells him. "I just- I thought I'd be ready to see them again. I called out to them before I could stop myself, but I got pulled back before they came down."

Scott stares at him, unsure of what to say. Clint continues to pick absently at his glove, eventually just pulling it off. He rests his hand on the side of the helmet frame.

"Tell me about them," he says suddenly, without thinking.

Clint glances over.

"What?"

"Your kids," Scott elaborates. He walks over to the railing. "I'd like to know more about them."

Clint falls quiet, but he doesn't seem offended. Eventually, he sighs.

"Okay." He pauses, takes another deep breath, and clasps his hands. "Lila is the older sister. People used to tell me she takes a lot after me, especially with the way she acts. She uh, she wants to do archery as well, and so I used to teach her. She was- is pretty good at it, too." He stops, and smiles sadly. "And Cooper, he's a really, really good kid. He's just so kind and thoughtful of others, and he just takes such great care of his younger cousins. When we had the youngest on the way, he was so excited."

Clint comes to halt, and his mouth wavers. He turns his head away, places a hand on his chin.

Scott looks at him sorrowfully, and tries to ask his question as gently as he can.

"Did you go back to the time when..."

"Yeah. Didn't realize it'd go that far."

"I'm sorry. That must've been really difficult."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. My wife, Laura, she was expecting around the time of Sokovia," Clint tells him quietly, watery, heartbroken. "We were going to name him Nathaniel, after Nat."

Scott manages to smile.

"I-I loved them both a lot, Scott. Laura was just so sweet and caring, and she made a wonderful mother and wife. Nathaniel wasn't even there yet, and I already knew I was going to love him to the moon and back. I had just retired, um, briefly, and I felt like it would be the perfect chance for me to reclaim the mantle of father."

He looks down, and sniffs. When he speaks again, his voice has been torn apart.

"They didn't make it, when the delivery happened. Neither of them. I hoped so, SO badly that she'd be able to recover from it, because she was just so strong, but..." He trails off.

And he cries.

Scott, overcome by emotion, places an arm around his shoulders.

He looks out across the lawn, orange under the setting sun, and he just stops to pay attention. He listens to Clint's grief-stricken sobs, but he doesn't empathize because he can't. And he wishes he could, God he wishes he could do something useful, but he can't, so he just squeezes harder.

"It's alright," he whispers, because that's what he's always done. "It's alright," he says, because he thinks it's what should be said.

"I'm so, so sorry Clint, that you had to go through that, what seems like twice now. I-I don't know what that feels like but it must be absolutely awful. And I'm so sorry for it." He drops his voice, tilts his head in. "But we have a chance now. A chance to really bring your family back. And it must be hard, because that doesn't mean everyone, but you are strong and you're compassionate and you won't let them die. Any of them. And that is such an important chance, and I really think we'll be able to pull it off. That you will."  
  
"Yeah," Clint chokes out, and he's nodding frantically.

"You gonna be alright?"

"Yes. I think I am, I really think I am," Clint says. His face lights up. "Fuck, I really, really am. We're totally going to win this time, I know we will."

Even with the tears still streaking down his face, Clint smiles, excited and unabashed, and Scott, feeling that excitement starting to rub off, takes a hand off his shoulder to run through his own hair with giddiness.

"Yes! Yes, yes, we will!" He blathers out, sparking with sudden rejuvenation.

"I totally trust you on that, do you trust me?" Clint asks, and he starts to laugh, laugh with the tears still coming. Scott feels like he could burst out crying too.

"I trust you. We'll get them back, I swear it to you," Scott answers, completely honest, and he smiles wide and a thousand-watt bright. He sees Clint's own thrilled expression and everything just bursts out, and the thrill is causing him to laugh too. He grabs Clint's wrists and shakes them as a confirmation of his enthusiasm, and the squeeze he gets back causes his heart to hammer on. Loud and delighted laughter fills the orange sky as the Quinjet returns to the Compound, and Clint continues to cry pure joy.

It's one hell of a way to fill his request for a chat.

 

:::

 

The gauntlet is bright on the battlefield. Even though there's huge loops of fire suspended in the air as nothing short of angels (at least that's what it feels like) pour out into the fight; and the sun shines harsh from where it's hidden in the clouds; and lasers cut the armies into quarters as they run along in sharp lines; it's the gauntlet that's brightest. Goddamn red and gold and dotted with the Stones, it glows in the mess of dark brown dirt.

Everyone is looking for it, and it's not hard to find.

Under Clint's arm it's held, and he's not hard to find.

Scott spots him immediately. He's looking too.

There's a jumble of words over his radio, a mixture of 'Where'd they go?'s and 'Help!'s and 'Don't let him get the gauntlet!'s and other deafening war cries. It's a mess over the lines, a startling loud white noise. He turns off the listening channel, and yells into the comm.

"Hey! Pass it on!"

Clint must instantly hear it, because Scott catches him slapping his free hand over his ear and rapidly looking around. After a quick duck from a particularly skittish solider of Thanos, he rolls off to the side and looks up. Seeing Scott, he thumbs up.

Scott lets out a breath, and gets whacked in the head.

He has to turn his attention to that, but, with the best of his ability, he pays close attention to the comm channels. There's still a lot of shouting, but everyone's calling out locations and requests for the gauntlet now.

He hears it get passed from Clint to vaguely familiar voice to vaguely familiar voice, and eventually into the possession of what sounds like a twelve year old. The skirmish continues, and he's suffering from a cut jaw and a startling loud sounding kneecap, and he has to cut the channel again to avoid passing out from sensory overload.

Hope's got his back, and he'll thank her a million times over later and probably cry all over her while he's at it. They're standing farther away, the area mostly cleaned out, and she calls out to him, short and muffled in with the other noises. Scott turns around as he wipes at his wet forehead. Her form enlarges from its battle ready wasp-like size, and she stands on a demolished concrete wall over the thicker part of the fighting.

He thinks she's pointing, at what he can't tell, but suddenly everything seems to have gotten a lot quieter and stiller. Quickly, he makes his way over to her side, and stares out across the rubble of the Compound. It's still a cluttered mess, of course, yet he manages to spot four or five Avengers. Hope continues to desperately point and say something, eventually just pushing his head towards the center of the skirmish.

It's very empty there. A circle of empty area as been formed with two very imposing figures in the center, who Scott can't quite place. He squints.

But before he can figure out what he's supposed to be looking for, Hope grabs his arm, gasps, and then a shattering snap echoes across the battlefield.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, I'm sorry that this took so long to come out. I kinda procrastinated on it a bunch. The dialogue tends to suffer in some places for it, especially with Natasha, but I think that's more because I'm struggling to pin her character down. I'm enjoying writing her, though. If you didn't figure out from reading this chapter, I love seeing uncommon pair ups just in anything. Hopefully I got that across well
> 
> Anyways, I'll try and keep these notes short.
> 
> It's pretty easy to tell that I'm looking forward to happier chapters, because everyone seems rather cheerful for the end of the world. Endgame didn't have any tonal problems per say, but I'd argue that after Scott's arrival that the movie got a lot peppier. We'll say that's what I was going for!
> 
> On the subject of possible connecting storylines, like I mentioned earlier, I'd like to write two others at the moment. It's sort of blatant in the way scenes just sort of end, but I'd like to rewrite this timeline from Tony or Stephen's side, and Rocket's as well. T/S's would likely be multi-chaptered as well and focus very heavily on events during Endgame, while Rocket's could probably be contained in just one and more of a character study during and after Endgame (because Rocket is honestly the easiest to write and I love him lots). Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your ideas or recommendations.
> 
> Oh, and as always, if there are any grammar problems I should fix, format issues needing correcting, words of criticism you'd like to offer, or trigger warnings you'd like me to list, please let me know! That'd be very helpful.


End file.
